"I'm so delighted to see you, Captain."

"Not any more than I am to see you. Why didn't you speak English to me on the river?"

"Well," she exclaimed, "I was a little confused and did not remember that Americans spoke English, but let me present you to my mother and the gentlemen."

Paul was then introduced to an Austrian officer and a count who with her mother were occupants of the box. Little attention was paid to the play going on by Paul, who kept up a running conversation in English mixed with French, with the charming girl at his side, but wily diplomat that he was, he got in an occasional remark to her mother in German. At the close of the performance, Paul offered his arm to the young lady, while the Austrian officer took the mother in tow. The other gentlemen in the party took the lead at the door. They walked leisurely home through the narrow streets and the officer who was escorting the mother clinked the scabbard of his long sword in a savage manner on the cobble stones. Before they parted at the door of her home, Paul had asked for and obtained permission to call the next day. He then turned away accompanied by the officer and walked in the direction of his hotel. The officer asked him how long he intended to remain in Buda Pesth. Paul did not give him very much satisfaction as he was running free at the time and had no course mapped out. On arriving at the hotel, the Captain invited the officer to take some refreshments. While seated at the table, the latter introduced the subject of dueling and asked Paul questions in regard to the code in America. Paul easily seeing the drift of his thoughts, entertained him with accounts of hair-raising combats with bowie knives, revolvers, shot guns and cannons, a.s.suring him they were of frequent occurrence in the part of the States where he came from. He told the officer that he did not know one of his friends who would not rather partic.i.p.ate in a duel than be invited to a banquet. When the warrior parted from Paul he was stuffed fell of harrowing yarns, all of which he seemed to believe, at least his demeanor was much more gentle than when he had entered the hotel. Paul remained in Buda Pesth two weeks longer than he expected, during which time he was a frequent visitor at the home of the fair Irene, where he was always welcomed by herself and parents.

Then followed a trip through the princ.i.p.al cities of Hungary.

He then went to Italy where on the 4th of November, 1876, he started on a long voyage down the Po from Turin to the Adriatic, a distance of about six hundred and seventy miles. He was determined to make this trip in one continuous run, intending it as a feat to test his endurance.

Paul's knowledge of Italian was very limited and his knowledge of the river he was about to embark on, less. All the inhabitants of Turin seemed to have turned out to see him start. To carry his provisions, map, etc., he had a little tin boat made about two feet, six inches long and eight inches wide. This little craft bore the name, "Irene D'Ungeria," Irene, belle of Hungary, and was the model from which his well known "Baby Mine" was the evolution. The weather was cold and the water intensely so. Its source was the Alps, then in plain view and covered with snow.

He started on a Sat.u.r.day morning at nine o'clock. The current was exceedingly strong, rushing over gravel beds on which he frequently grounded. The country in the vicinity was very beautiful with high ground on each side. At every little village and hamlet, he was received with enthusiastic "vivas" and many were the kind invitations he was tendered to stop and take refreshments. All these he declined as he had ample provisions in his little boat for a four day's run. This boat he had attached to his belt by a line about three yards long. She behaved very well; but when he reached very violent rapids he was compelled to pick her up and place her on his legs before him. About nightfall a lady and gentleman came off in a small boat and requested him to stop for the night a.s.suring him that the danger in the river below was very great. It contained many mills under which he might be carried; but his mind was made up and he went steadily along on his perilous voyage. The night was very cold and the struggling moon occasionally lit up the valley. He struck many times heavily on the rocks and frequently entered false channels. About three o'clock Sunday morning, he heard a loud roaring noise and supposed it to be some freight train pa.s.sing over the bridge at Casale, a village below, which he considered was then near. About the same time a thick, white fog peculiar to the Po, settled over the river. Through this he picked his way cautiously and as the current swept in around the bend of the river, the noise he heard before seemed to be no great distance away. The speed of the current seemed to increase and in a few minutes afterwards, he was shot over a dam and hurled in the tumbling water below.

Before he could extricate himself, the little boat had been upset and was about sinking when he grabbed her. The current soon drove him far below the dam, where he landed on a bar and emptied his tender of water.

He knew her contents were ruined; but it was too dark to examine, so he kept on his voyage until sunrise, when he landed and found that all his provisions were converted into a kind of pudding, dotted with cigars instead of fruit. The small flask of Cognac and a bottle of oil were the only things uninjured. A pull at the Cognac flask served him for breakfast and he paddled away on his voyage with vigorous stroke. The sun rose that morning in a deep red color and as the rays illumined the snow clad Alps, that looked so near him, the valley of the Po and the remnants of the fog were bathed in a soft red light, so that even the very water seemed turned to blood. A sight more beautiful and peculiar than this, Paul never witnessed since or before. The river now seemed to shoot from the hills into the low land. On either side was a heavy growth of willows.

He saw no one until about nine that morning, when sweeping around a bend he came on a boat containing two men with a swivel gun, after ducks.

Both men were greatly excited and one of them turned the swivel in his direction. Paul shouted vigorously at him not to fire, and fortunately he did not. He ran along side and held a conversation in the best Italian he could muster. They informed him that he was nearing the village of Fra.s.sinetto and offered him provisions. He accepted a piece of bread which he ate and again started on his journey. A couple of hours afterward he came to a flying bridge, an inst.i.tution peculiar to many European rivers. It consists of a long line of small boats strung together on a heavy cable, anch.o.r.ed in the centre of the river. The boats supported the cable. The last boat on the line is the ferry or bridge. This is much larger than any of the others and has a steering oar. When cast away from one sh.o.r.e, the ferry is steered diagonally against the current to the opposite side while the line of boats supporting the cable swing with it. Paul often found these bridges exceedingly dangerous, particularly at night time. Then the ferry is always tied and the line of small boats lead from the centre to the side for about a hundred yards below. The bridge men at Fra.s.sinetto were notified of Paul's approach by his bugle and never having heard of him before, rowed out in a skiff and were very indignant when they found that he would not be rescued. All day Sunday he drove ahead on the rapid current. By consulting his maps, which he fortunately saved and dried on the deck of the Irene, he found that he could not make the run in four days as he had expected when he started. Sunday evening he obtained some provisions from a miller and though feeling very sleepy and much fatigued, he kept driving along all night. The roar of the waters as they dashed against the mills, put him on the alert. Monday morning he was faint and fast becoming exhausted; but was encouraged by the hope of soon reaching Piacenza. There he expected to meet his agent, get a little rest and a full supply of much needed provisions.

The agent in question, was a Scotchman, he had met in Milan, before going to Turin. His occupation was that of a tenor singer; but he failed to make a success of it, he was open for anything that turned up.

Finding that he was a good Italian scholar, Paul engaged him. He was not exactly Paul's idea of what an agent ought to be, as he showed too much fondness for the good things of this life. When seated with a dish of cutlets and truffles flanked by a generous sized bottle of wine, he was apt to make statements that were rather unreliable. Before leaving Milan for Turin, Paul told him, as the Po was to him an unknown river, he could not tell at what time he could make on it, so that he must use his judgment from the reports he would get from above, in regard to the progress he was making down the river. He then instructed him to go to Piacenza on Sat.u.r.day as he expected to be able to reach that point on Sunday evening. Paul afterwards learned that instead of waiting until Sat.u.r.day; his courier, full of self importance, started for that city the same day Paul left on his way to Turin. On arriving there he introduced himself to the Sindaco and newspaper men, by whom he was feted and ample opportunity was given him to indulge in his favorite dishes. On his own responsibility, he informed the journalists that Captain Boyton would be sure to arrive on Sunday evening, and at that time almost every man, woman and child in Piacenza was on the banks of the river two miles away from the town. Finding that the Captain did not appear at the time he announced and that the crowd was getting angry, the agent slipped away and got back just in time to catch a train for Ferrara much farther down the river. Most of the crowd waited on the banks until dark, then returned and commenced to hunt for the agent; not finding him, they satisfied themselves by burning his effigy in the public square.

Monday broke on Paul, chilly and uncomfortable. Once in a while a faint gleam of sunshine would light up the river and he took advantage of any long reach before him, free from mills, to take a nap. He woke from one of these naps by hearing a cry on the banks and saw a fisherman gazing intently at the floating object. He half opened his eyes, but never made a move, curious to see what effect his presence would make on the peasant. At this time the current was setting him into the sh.o.r.e. The fisherman ran down along the bank to a point and there stood, pole in hand, waiting to capture what he no doubt thought was a dead body. As he was thrusting the pole out, Paul quickly a.s.sumed an upright position in the water and saluted him with the words:

"Buon giorno."

The pole dropped from his hand and with one frightened shriek he rushed up the bank and disappeared. About one o'clock the bridge at Piacenza came in sight but instead of being full of people, as he expected, Paul saw only a few working men and some soldiers. No sight of the agent was visible, so he decided to run through and stop at Cremona about thirty miles below. He saluted the workmen and soldiers as he was carried under the bridge with frightful velocity. At this time his strength was almost gone and he was heart sore that he should fail in his self-imposed task; but felt that he was able to continue on as far as Cremona, about twenty-five miles below. The day grew more dreary and it seemed to him as if it would soon commence to snow. He continued working slowly and stubbornly along, when he was arrested by a cry behind him. Coming upright and wheeling around, he saw a young officer standing in a boat pulled by about twenty pontoneers. As he shot alongside, the officer stretched forth his hand to shake Paul's and said in French:

"You must come on board and go back to Piacenza. The public are greatly disappointed. Your agent said that you would be here yesterday and a great reception was prepared for you."

Paul thanked him but firmly declined to return. The officer then asked him if he desired anything and Paul informed him that he was badly in need of provisions and some oil for his lamp. He had missed the little light on the head of the Irene during the long, lonely nights on the river.

"There is a village a couple of miles below," said the officer, "and if you will slack up a little, I will run ahead and have all you need by the time you come opposite."

The pontoneer's boat shot away and Paul followed quietly after them.

When he arrived off the village, the boat again pulled out into the stream with not only the supplies desired, but a most excellent meal, consisting of boiled eggs and other nutritious edibles, along with a bottle of fine old Barolo, the sparkling red wine of that country.

While eating the food, Paul, with the boat alongside, drifted slowly with the current and during that time, he ascertained that the young officer, who had manifested so much interest in him, was the son of General Pescetta, Minister of Marine. Shortly before being overtaken by the friendly Italian, Boyton was beginning to feel terribly fatigued and had serious thoughts of throwing up the trip; but under the influence of the hearty meal and the invigorating wine, his courage was renewed and he felt he could easily complete the journey. All that day he pa.s.sed through lonely and miserable looking country. Swampy lands and rice fields bordered either side of the river. About five o'clock he saw two men on the bank and called out to them, asking how far it was to Cremona:

"Motto, Signor; motto," was the answer which means, "very much, very much." It is the usual reply of all Italian peasants when asked regarding distance.

Paul was so refreshed that he did not mind the discouraging answer. He was on buoyant spirits and to it seemed to him as though he could dash along forever without tiring, his strength was so great. He felt there would be no difficulty in completing his undertaking in time. This unusual animation and feeling of wondrous power, he could only attribute to the effects of the food and wine. Pulling gaily along, he suddenly felt a tremendous pressure in his head, and apparently without the slightest cause, blood spurted from his mouth and nostrils. It occurred to him that he had burst a blood vessel.

Brilliant lights seemed to be burning in front, behind and all around him, with the intensity of electric search lights. A village appeared on the bank and he concluded to stop. Pulling in sh.o.r.e, he was bewildered to find only the mud bank. This discovery startled him into a realization that something was wrong with his brain. The mind was wavering between the hallucinations of a fever, and lucidity.

Vagaries occasioned by a high temperature, would suddenly vanish as the struggling mind briefly a.s.serted itself. As he resumed paddling, some swaying willows became three ladies attired in the Grecian bend costume, then a fad in America, smiling and bowing to him. His mind told him they were only willows; but his eyes would not be convinced.

Darkness fell about him. He had no idea of where he was going, and the lights burst on him again with increased brilliancy. No matter where his eyes turned, the intense rays would shine into them. He thought he had arrived at Cremona, and that some men were turning the reflector to annoy him. "Keep those lights off," he shouted, "don't you see they are blinding me?"

Reason came for an instant and told him there was no town and no lights.

He knew he must call for help, but several minutes elapsed before he could remember the proper Italian word. Then he cried:

"Soccorso, soccorso!"

But only the echo responded from the lonely sh.o.r.e.

He again reached the bank, formed by a d.y.k.e which protects the lowlands from the floods. He climbed to the top, carrying the little tender in his arms. Then he could hear the tack, tack, tack, of some one pounding, and through an open door he saw a shoemaker hammering away at the sole of a boot on his knee. Attempting to enter, he staggered against a tree.

The shoemaker appeared in another direction and the sound of the hammer was continually with him. Almost overcome with fatigue he decided to sit down, and then his paddle a.s.sumed the character of a companion, remonstrating with him and advising him to move on.

"I think I'll sit down here," Boyton would say.

"Indeed you won't," answered the paddle.

"But I must."

"If you do you will die. Come on."

Endeavoring to obey the commands of the paddle he continued to stagger on, falling at every few steps; but regaining his feet and pressing forward. Intense thirst consumed him and he went often to the brink of the river and drank quant.i.ties of water, burying his face in the muddy stream; the paddle all the while urging him to move on. Along the top of the d.y.k.e he came upon three posts placed for the purpose of keeping cattle from getting off the road. These posts became sneering, laughing men, wearing cloaks flung across their b.r.e.a.s.t.s, Italian fashion. They were insolent, and he challenged them to fight; but they only ridiculed him.

"You are the fellows that have been bothering me all night," he shouted, and dropping on one knee, he took a sheath knife from the tender and plunged it into the breast of one of the men. In a flash of reason he saw the knife quivering in a post.

Again the fevered voyager started, the paddle all the while telling him that he would soon strike some town or village. Two or three times the overwhelming desire for water compelled him to return to the river and drink. Every time he descended or climbed the d.y.k.e he grew weaker and finally decided to lie down at all hazards and sleep. The paddle earnestly remonstrated:

"It is death. Death if you lie down. Keep on," it said.

Fatigue obtained the mastery and he sank on the ground determined to sleep. Scarcely had he stretched his limbs on the muddy d.y.k.e, than he was partially aroused by the "dong, dong, dong," of a great bell clanging on the still night air. He counted twelve strokes.

"Ah, that is another illusion," he thought; but it brought him to a sitting posture, just as a bell of different tone sounded "ding, ding, ding," and again he counted twelve strokes.

The second sound convinced him that he was near a village, and heeding the commands of the paddle, he struggled to his feet and entered a road which he followed, pa.s.sing under an old arch that spanned the highway, but he was afraid to touch it, thinking that it too, would disappear.

Shortly the cobble stones of a street were felt through the rubber soles of his dress. He saw houses on each side, but kept on under the impression that if he approached them they would vanish, and he also conceived the idea that he must tread lightly or he would scare them away. As he advanced through the village street, arguing with the paddle that no real village was in sight, a light shining through a transom over the door of some outbuilding, attracted his attention, and he thought he might be in the vicinity of human beings. Hearing the sound of voices he approached the door, listening. Then another mad thought came to him, that he must make a desperate rush at the door and get inside before it melted away. He did so, and the frail barrier gave way before the pressure of his shoulder and he stumbled headlong into the place. He disturbed several men who were drinking and playing at some game and as he regained his feet he observed two of the men trying to escape through a window, while the others seized chairs and benches to repel an attack of what they imagined to be the Evil one.

"Molto malado!" cried Boyton.

At hearing this, the men gained confidence and put down their weapons.